Halo Infinite
by NickKap
Summary: During the initial stages of the UNSC's Operation LAND GRAB, Gunnery Sergeant Eddie Buck will experience a life-changing event. Meanwhile, in a city in the sky, Booker DeWitt tries to bring back the girl to wipe away the debt.
1. Land Grab

**A/N: Well, here we are. If you've been following my story over on the Halo/Star Wars section, you'll know what kind of quality story you're getting. If you've never read my work before, I think you'll enjoy it.**

**Whether you like what I've written or not, please review my chapters. I'll only get better by people telling me what they thought was wrong and what they would like to have included. Hell, if you give me a good enough idea, you're suggestion just might make an appearance in the story!**

**So please, pull up a chair and get comfortable.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters created by Bungie Studios/343 Industries, nor do I own any of the characters or settings created by Irrational Games/2K Australia. I do, however, take credit for the original characters I create.**

* * *

The space surrounding Requiem, the impromptu base of operations for the Forerunner military commander Didact, was tranquil. The stars silently twinkled in the distance, the B V-type star's heat radiated throughout the Epoloch system, and the Covenant Remnant fleet prowled the area around the Forerunner Shield World.

Like sharks waiting for their next meal, the Remnant fleet circled the area in front of the artificial planetary body. The Remnant, a splinter faction of the former Covenant Empire still loyal to their worshiping of the Forerunners as gods, were led by the Sangheili radical Jul 'Mdama. With 'Mdama commanding from the _CAS_-class assault carrier _Blinding Fury_, the Remnant fleet ruled the emptiness of space surrounding the artificial planetary body.

Suddenly, disrupting the serenity surrounding Requiem, a Slipspace rupture off the starboard side of a _CCS_-class battlecruiser appeared and disgorged the massive UNSC _Infinity_. The _Infinity_, a three mile long warship and the pride of the UNSC Naval fleet, decapitated the unfortunate Covenant capital ship before any other Covenant ship knew what had happened.

When the Covenant finally realized what was happening, the _Infinity_ had launched ten _Charon-_class light frigates and scores of F-41 Exoatmospheric Multirole "Broadsword" Strike Fighters from her underbelly to engage the Remnant fleet of ships and Seraph fighters. As the light frigates and fighter ships went toe-to-toe with the Covenant, the _Infinity_ moved into position close to Requiem, and began her mission.

Operation: LAND GRAB, where hundreds of D79H-TC Pelican dropships filled with Marines, ODSTs and SPARTAN-IV fireteams would be onto the surface of Requiem to eliminate any and all Covenant and Promethean threats, clearing the way for _Infinity_ science teams to set up research facilities.

Onboard one of these Pelicans was Gunnery Sergeant Edward Buck. Buck, second-in-command of Echo Squad of 1st Platoon, Charlie Company, 7th Shock Troops Battalion, stood at the cockpit door of the Pelican and looked over his team of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers.

First was Corporal Taylor H. Miles, better known as Dutch. The Close Quarters Combat specialist, Dutch was a kindhearted Marine who would go above and beyond to help any of his squadmates. Although a CQC-specialist, Dutch was much more comfortable utilizing the M6 Grindell/Galilean Nonlinear Rifle.

Checking the sights of his M7S Caseless Submachine Gun next to Dutch was the ODST only known as the Rookie. Buck didn't know much about the young soldier, other than that he was able to survive the streets of New Mombasa after the Slipspace Event that leveled the city in 2552. If anyone could not only survive in a Covenant-infested city for an entire night, but openly fight back, then they had the Gunny's respect.

On the other side of the troop bay was Lance Corporal Kojo "Romeo" Aju. The uppity trooper was an artist with a sniper rifle, possessing skills that would rival those of the SPARTANs. If only he knew when to shut up, Buck wouldn't always be so pissed off with him.

Sitting beside him was Private First Class was Michael "Mickey" Crespo, the Jack of all trades in the squad. Not only was the young man the team's demolitions expert, he was also the unofficial pilot. Basically, you put anything in the kid's hands, there was a good chance he could kill you with it – intentionally or unintentionally.

Stepping out from the cockpit was ONI Captain Veronica Dare. Since taking control of the squad prior to the failed assault of the Prophet of Regret's assault carrier during the First Battle of New Mombasa, the ONI spook had been place in permanent command of the five ODSTs. If the Office of Naval Intelligence wanted intel on a highly-dangerous location, they were the ones sent in.

As the Pelican shook from evading the Seraph fighters, Dare nodded to Buck.

"Alright, listen up ladies," started Buck, walking towards the middle of the troop bay. "Our mission is to secure the map room of Requiem. Based on advanced recon drones, the map room – known as _the Cartographer_ – is heavily guarded with close to a dozen Covie squads and a contingent of armor."

"What's the make-up of the enemy," asked Dutch.

"Mixed bag; mostly Grunts and Jackals, with Elites in command positions and a couple of Hunter pairs. As for armor, mostly Ghosts, with a few Wraith tanks." The ODSTs groaned, but Buck put up his hand to silence them.

"What kind of support are we getting," asked Mickey. "I'd rather take a couple of steps on land before getting mowed down by a Ghost or something."

The Captain took the opportunity to field this question. "Covenant vehicles and Hunter pairs are being prioritized by command for Broadsword and Longsword bombing runs, before we roll in with Warthogs, tanks, standard Marine infantry, and SPARTAN fireteam Ivy."

Romeo groaned. "SPARTANs? We have to work with SPARTANs on this op?"

"We don't _have _to," said Dutch, slapping Romeo on the knee. "We _get_ to."

Romeo's view on the SPARTANs was a common one amongst the ODST branch of the UNSC. Long before the SPARTAN Program was made public, it was a long held belief that the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers were the best of the best in the UNSC military.

To Buck, though, as long as they were human and weren't Innies, he didn't care. The more humans taking down Covenant baddies, the better.

"Dutch is right; we'll need all the firepower we can get if we want to evict those bastards from the map room," said Buck, closing in on Aju. "So I don't want to hear any of that shit on the ground, you get me?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it."

"I think someone's a little pissed about their kill stats going down," joked Mickey, before getting an elbow to the gut from Romeo.

Static belched in Buck's radio-piece; it was the pilot of Pelican X-Ray 387, Lieutenant Sadie Fellows. "_Attention passengers, we're going to be experiencing some slight turbulence as we enter the Forerunner object. So please strap yourselves in, and make sure all tray tables are in their up-right and locked position._" The Pelican began to shake upon closing in on the entrance portal. "_We'd like to thank you again for choosing Pelican Airways, where the comfort of the passenger always comes first._"

The dropship began to shake violently, as the Marines calmly strapped themselves in.

"Alright, this is it Troopers," Buck shouted into his helmet comm. "Once we touch down, expect plenty of enemy resistance. I want everyone's heads up, eyes open, fingers on the trigger, and we'll all get out of this in one piece."

The ODSTs of Echo Squad shouted _Oo-rah_ in unison. Dare opened a private line with Buck, as the Pelican continued to violently shake. "You think they're up for it?"

"Are you kidding? These guys are some of the best soldiers I know. If there's anyone to get the job done, it's them."

"I know, I just don't want any screw ups. We need this to take this Cartographer and hold it down if we want a tactical advantage over the Covenant."

"Understood, Veronica. Understood."

As the shaking lessened, Veronica turned to Buck. "Don't call me that."

"What, I'm not allowed to call you Veronica anymore? When the hell did that happen?"

"Once I took command of your squad, _Gunnery Sergeant_."

"Now wait just a damn second," Buck said, anger in his voice rising. "You never took command; you were _given_ it. Against my wishes, I'd like to add. So as far as we're concerned, you're only here to get intel. Keep your head down, and stay out of our way." The Captain cut off the comm channel, and polarized her visor.

Buck sighed, and looked over at the Rookie slumped over in his seat. "Hey Rookie, you up?" The Rookie, only a Lance Corporal, gave a silent thumbs up as the vibrations came to a stop.

The roars of jet engines streaked past overhead, signaling the beginning of the bombing run before fun really began. It wasn't long before the squad heard a series of loud explosions ripping through the air. In an instant, the visors of everyone's helmet polarized until not a single face was shown.

"Not gonna lie," said Mickey. "But I really wish we were fighting some Brutes today."

"You kidding," asked Dutch. "You'd rather take on a berserker BK than a split-chin?"

"A _dumb_ berserker BK. Give me one of those over a hinge-head with a plasma sword any day of the week. You can kill big and dumb easier than smart."

"What about one with a Grav Hammer?"

"Yeah Mick," said Kojo, slapping the younger Marine on the back. "Next ape we see with a Hammer, I'll invite him over so you two can play Whack-A-Mole."

"Can the chatter, Troopers," said Dare. "We're landing in five."

Buck felt his stomach lift as the Pelican decelerated. He heard the familiar sound of the Pelican's GAU/53 70mm MBHRC Autocannon lay waste to whatever Covenant were foolish enough to face it down.

The entry ramp opened, flooding the troop bay with artificial sunlight and the sounds of gunfire. The ODST squad, along with scores of Marines from several other dropships and Fireteam Ivy, sprinted onto the foreign soil of the Forerunner world and were immediately under fire from the Covenant that survived the initial bombing run.

The grassy canyon the UNSC forces were dropped into was nothing short of breathtaking. The rock and canyon formations reminded Buck of shore leave in Colorado or England, while the pond water looked crystal clear. And if you ignored the Forerunner indentations and flickering lights high above, the clear-blue sky looked like it would back home.

Buck, however, couldn't let his mind focus on the beauty of his surroundings; only where the enemy was and how to out-maneuver them. As plasma bolts and crystalline needles whizzed by him at alarming speeds, Buck and the squad took cover behind one of the many smoking husks of a destroyed Wraith tank.

The Covenant had set up multiple turret nests along the high ground, and were keeping the initial surge of Marine forces pinned down in open field. Meanwhile, gravity platforms were hovering along the ridge, giving their Jackal snipers the high ground they needed to pick off any absent-minded soldiers. He wasn't sure how many Hunters were left, or even _if_ any were left, but he kept his eyes open for any sighting of the behemoths.

As the plasma turret nest continued to hammer away at their cover, Buck poked his head out the side to get a good look at its position. The plasma turret, known as a Shade, was manned by a blue-armored Elite, so a single headshot wasn't going to be enough to take it down. The turret was also surrounded by a group of Grunts of mixed ranks.

Buck, quickly brought his head back into cover, and signaled Crespo to bring his M41 Surface-to-Surface Rocket Medium Anti-Vehicle/Assault rocket launcher. "Sixty-degrees north-by-northeast, two o'clock high," Buck said to the PFC. "Don't fire until I give you the signal."

"Got it," Mickey proclaimed, moving past Buck to the very edge of the cover. Buck then crept his way over to the opposite side of the tank, and peeked around again.

Over a thousand feet away, the Gunnery Sergeant saw two more turret positions pinning down one quickly-dwindling Marine platoon. Luckily, these two were operated by gas-suckers, while they were under the command of an Elite clad in dark green armor.

Buck opened a comm-line with Romeo. "Romeo, three targets for ya. Ten, maybe fifteen-hundred yards away. Two gunners and the split-chin running the show." Kojo crawled on his stomach to an exposed area of the tank and looked through the scope of his 99-Series 5 Anti Matériel sniper rifle. "Come on, Buck, give me a challenge or something."

Buck smiled, then turned to Dare. "Any word from Fireteam Ivy?"

"They were dropped off a few clicks behind Covenant lines to secure the back entrance."

Buck then saw ten small red dots on his HUD closing in on their position. Buck activated his VISR, and saw eight Grunts and two Elites highlighted in red. They were slowly coming their way towards their position, weapons raised and ready to make their first kills of the afternoon.

"Dutch, Rookie, toss grenades over the top! We've got baddies coming in hot!" As Dutch and the Rookie pulled a grenade from their belts and lobbed them over the squad's cover, Buck counted down in his head. _Three… two… one._ "Now! Let 'em have it!"

As Mickey swung around the edge of the Wraith and successfully unloaded both rockets on the nearest turret, Romeo scored three consecutive headshots on his targets thousands a feet away. Meanwhile, as the M9 High-Explosive Dual-Purpose grenades detonated amongst the group of Covenant, Buck climbed over the broken Wraith and rained fire on the remaining targets with his MA5D Individual Combat Weapon System assault rifle. Its 7.62x51mm ammunition blasted through what was left of the Elite's weakened shields, and tore gaping holes in its body.

Dare finished off the Grunts with precise headshots from her M6C/SOCOM pistol, and the initial landing force of Marines pressed forward. Bullets, plasma and needles filled the calm afternoon air, as the UNSC began pushing back the Covenant occupation force with ease and speed, and Buck's squad was spearheading the charge.

By the time the UNSC forces reached the entrance to the Cartographer room – a massive structure whose sleek and stainless-metallic design greatly contrasted the natural setting of the canyon – a detachment of M12 "Warthog" Force Application Vehicles and M808B "Scorpion" Main Battle Tanks were deployed to fortify the outer defenses of the canyon range. Buck was thankful for the armor, as he knew the Covenant surely weren't going to just let them have this position without trying to take it back.

The interior of the room was similar to previous Forerunner architecture; sleek, straight lines, very geometrical, technology mixed in with the natural environment, and filled with their Sentinel security robots. They weren't engaging the Marines, though, so there was no reason to be alarmed.

As Buck and his squad approached the terminal, a door opened on the back side of the room. The squad raised their weapons, and a massive Hunter collapsed through the entrance, armor smoldering and a hole the size of a grav-ball punched clean through its midsection.

Through the door stepped one of the SPARTAN-IVs of Fireteam Ivy, carrying a smoking M363 Remote Projectile Detonator grenade launcher. Its armor was a forest green color with a silver visor, and it was wearing the EOD variant of the SPARTAN armor. Two more SPARTANs from Ivy entered through the door, one wearing the Stalker variant and wielding an M45D Tactical Shotgun, while the third wore the Commando variant and carried an M395 Designated Marksman Rifle. The Commando SPARTAN approached Buck, and gave the Gunnery Sergeant a firm salute.

"SPARTAN Jovan Parsons, of Fireteam Ivy," the super-soldier said.

"Eddie Buck, Echo Squad, 10th Shock Troops Battalion." Buck replied with a lackadaisical salute of his own. "What the hell took you guys so long?"

"We got held up by about a hundred pissed off Covies, plus a few Hunter pairs, no big deal." SPARTAN Parsons moved towards the Cartographer terminal, while placing another grenade on the launcher. "So what kind of slop did you guys fight through?"

"Oh, not much. Just your standard Covenant defensive unit; Grunts, Jackals, Elites, plus a few tanks and plasma turrets. You and your boys can check out the graveyard out front if you want and see for yourselves."

"Thanks, but no thanks. Maybe later though." Parsons motioned towards the SPARTAN in the Stalker armor. "See what you can do, Etan."

SPARTAN Etan rushed over to the terminal and started tapping into the hard-light control panel. He rapidly tapped the panel, and grumbled in frustration. "For Christ sake, the damn Covies jumbled everything when they tried to put up a security wall," said the SPARTAN in his thick Australian accent. "It'll take some time just to clean this mess before I can even start to access the map."

"How long is a while, SPARTAN," asked Buck.

"Five, ten minutes tops." The SPARTAN continued to tap at the hard-light panel.

Buck, somewhat annoyed at the answer, quietly walked away to get a feel for his surroundings. As he was checking a stack of crates for anything useful, he quickly turned around with his assault rifle raised and searching for a target. He could've sworn he felt something brush against him, but there was no one in the general vicinity of him.

"Dutch, you see anything," Buck asked into his COMM, keeping his rifle raised.

"That's a negative, boss."

"Well keep your eyes open. I've got a bad feeling about this place." Buck slowly backpedaled, trying to keeping his eyes open for anything. He saw a red blip on his motion tracker appear and quickly disappear. Buck froze in place when he swore he saw the air ten feet away from him shiver. "Hey Parsons, tell your buddy to get that map online; I don't think we're alone in here."

On the opposite side of the room, where a squad of Marines were guarding the entrance, a plasma sword materialized out of thin air, and sliced through each of them with ease. Another Marine was picked off, and quickly silenced.

Buck's COMM channel was soon flooded with the panicked cries of Marines.

"_Where the hell did Charlie Squad go?!_"

"_I just saw something over by the walls!_"

"_Has anyone seen Brinks? She was just here a second ago!_"

"_They're everywhere! Jesus Christ, they're fucking everywhere!_"

A blood-curdling scream forced Buck to turn off his general comm-line. He was just starting to head back to his squad when he bumped into something. This was impossible, because Buck was nowhere near a wall or pillar. Buck quickly activated his VISR, and outlined in front of him was a towering split-chin.

The Elite knocked Buck to the ground with a back-handed slap, knocking his assault rifle out of his hands, and activated its energy sword. The blade hummed with the energy coursing through it, and the tips of the blade were pointed directly at Eddie.

With a guttural roar, the Elite reared back, and his brain exploded. Bits of bone, brain matter and blood sprayed Buck's visor, and he rolled out of the way before the dead Elite crashed on top of him.

"You alright Gunny," asked Romeo, rifle barrel aimed at where the Elite's head was.

"Ambush," shouted Mickey. "Spec Ops hinge-heads!"

Buck regained his feet, and quickly grabbed his MA5D. "All Marines form up in the middle! Everyone back-to-back! Let's move it, people!"

Scores of energy swords clashed to life, and the once calm Cartographer was now a hellish battlefield. The Marines huddled into the center-most part of the room, and unloaded at the sight of shimmering air.

Buck managed to dodge an Elite's swipe of the blade and put half a clip into its back. "Dutch, where's the Captain? Where's Veronica?"

Dutch unloaded his entire SMG clip into an Elite before throwing a grenade. "She's with the SPARTANs trying to figure out the security!" Buck silently swore and sprinted towards the control panel, where Parsons and the third member of Fireteam Ivy were valiantly guarding Etan and Dare as they tried to access Requiem's map. "Gunny, on your six!"

Buck barely had time to turn around and raise his weapon in a blocking position before an energy sword was brought down upon him. He moved back just in time, but the blade cut clean through his assault rifle, forcing Buck to discard it. He reached in his holster for his M6C/SOCOM pistol, but the Elite was faster.

The energy blade was lunged clean into Buck's chest – in the area of his heart – and he was lifted high in the air. A few well-placed shots by Parsons took the Elite down, but Buck crashed to the ground. Dare, having witnessed the whole event, rushed over to his side and called for a medic.

Buck's vision clouded before turning to black…

* * *

Visions of white fluffy clouds against a pristine blue sky faded in and out before finally coming into clear view…

* * *

**A/N - Yes, I'm aware the name of Buck's squad was never given. And yes, I know what Company, Platoon, or Battalion his squad was given was never mentioned. I figured I would take some creative licenses and expand a little on Buck's squad.**


	2. Columbia

When Buck's vision cleared, he saw that he was staring at a picturesque blue sky with the fluffiest of clouds delicately hanging in the air, hiding a stereotypically cheery sun. The sounds of children laughing and old-timey music playing, along with the peculiar scents fresh-baked bread and roses, sent his mind reeling.

_Am I in Heaven,_ Buck thought. _Or am I in an old painting?_

Without thinking, Buck went to adjust his helmet when he noticed he wasn't wearing it, almost poking himself in the eye in the process. In fact, he wasn't wearing any of his standard-issue ODST BDU. Instead Buck was wearing a plain black vest and tie, with a white dress shirt underneath.

Buck sat up on the park bench to further examine himself. He felt the tug of another foreign object coming from his pants pocket, and saw that a gold chain had tangled itself on one of the bench planks. He reached into the pockets and – to his surprise – pulled out a fully-functional gold watch. He also noticed he wasn't wearing combat boots; rather, on his feet were two black-leather shoes that fit him like a dream.

Buck, still in a daze, shielded his eyes from the glaring sun completely shining down on him. He got off the park bench he was laying on and stood up, staggering and stumbling around while holding his head from his sudden, inconveniently throbbing headache.

A woman, possibly in her thirties, and her young child walked by as Buck stumbled about.

"Hey mister," said the child, worry filling his pale-blue eyes. "Are you OK, mister?"

"Don't you talk to him, Samuel ," said the mother, scolding her child and hastily leading him away.

The woman turned away from Buck. "He's just a low-life drunk." Venom filled her voice as she and her child walked away.

"Hey who you calling drunk, lady," shouted Buck. With the woman paying no attention to Buck's question, he decided to take a seat back down on the wooden bench.

"My, my," said a female voice from behind. The voice, laced with boredom, had an unmistakable British accent. "Not exactly the proper way to introduce oneself."

"Then again," said another voice, this one male. "How _does_ one properly introduce hisself in a state such as his?"

Buck lifted himself off the bench and quickly wheeled around to see who was speaking. They were a man and woman, both red-headed – meaning they were at least related – and wearing matching outfits of tan jackets, brown vests, and green ties. They stood side by side, with impeccable expressions plastered on their faces.

"Who the hell are you people," asked Buck, instinctively reaching for his M6C sidearm. His eyebrows lifted when he couldn't feel his holster, and he looked down to notice it wasn't there. Neither was his trusted combat knife, making himself look like a fool as he searched for items that weren't there. "And what the hell did you do with my weapons? And my armor?"

"Oh, you mean this," said the woman, holding up Buck's pistol.

"And this," asked the man, the knife resting horizontally in his palm.

"Anachronisms such as these certainly shouldn't exist here. It would be best if we disposed of them."

"But if you go by that logic, dear Rosalind, then shouldn't _he_ also not exist here? Shouldn't _we_ not exist here, as well, if you are willing to go to those lengths of existential speculation? Would we _all_ have to be disposed of because of these possible irregularities? An absolutely chilling thought, dear sister."

"Hmm, true. Very true." The woman, Rosalind, turned back to Buck. Her emerald-green eyes scanned over the unarmed Trooper with great interest. "My sincerest apologies, where are our manners? My name is Rosalind, and this dashing – yet often foolish – man is my… _brother_, Robert."

"OK," said Buck, relaxing himself slightly, but still keeping himself in a loose fighting stance. "The name's–"

"Edward Buck," said Robert. "Gunnery Sergeant Edward Buck, to be exact."

Catching Buck completely off-guard, the mysterious man paused for great effect before continuing. A glint of smug satisfaction winked in his icy-blue eyes.

"Service number nine-two-four-five-eight-dash-three-seven-zero-one -seven-dash-E-B. Born August twenty-second, in twenty-five ten on the planet Draco III. Enlisting in the United Nations Space Command Marine Corps upon your eighteenth birthday, where you served valiantly across the planets of Harvest, Reach, and Earth throughout a twenty-five year military career."

A sly smile crept on the Brits face as he paused for effect once again. "Quite astounding that someone could survive in active service for that long, yet only achieve a rank as high as Gunnery Sergeant." A hint of pity was layered in on the last sentence.

"Draco III," asked the woman, arms crossed in dissatisfaction. "Harvest? Reach? You would think humanity would have come up with more interesting names for their colonies by the twenty-sixth century."

Buck, monumentally unnerved by the contrast of intel – of his knowledge of these people and their knowledge of him – staggered back a bit before steadying himself.

"Enough pleasantries for now," said Rosalind, she and her brother stepping towards Buck. "We have more pressing matters to attend to. Mainly, your mission here."

"Mission, what mission," asked Buck, speaking for what felt like the first time in an eternity, although only a minute or two would have passed at most. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, unable to wrap his head around what he was apparently a part of.

"Where is here," Buck continued, annoyance creeping into his normally cool-and-collected attitude as he observed his other-worldly surroundings. "And what happened to the others?"

"Others," asked Robert. "Ah, you mean your compatriots in battle. I can assure you, Edward, that they are just fine."

Buck instinctively reached for where was impaled by the stealth Elite – right above the heart – and felt no scars, stitches, or any other signs of recent trauma.

"As for where you are," added Rosalind, beginning to walk away from the bench and towards the edge of the brick road. She waved over her brother – who eagerly followed her – and Buck, who was more hesitant in following the twins before finally leaving his spot in front of the bench. "You are in Columbia, circa nineteen twelve."

"Nineteen twelve," Buck asked, looking over the railing and his eyes widened. The ODST marveled at the setting he was seeing; entire city blocks were placed atop giant balloons, while rail-lines connected city sections with one another. There were dozens of the city-islands, and even more individual zeppelins and other airships.

"Yes, it is rather remarkable," Robert commented, having noted Buck's unimpeded awe."I couldn't stop staring at the beauty of it myself, either."

"How… how is this possible? Even in my time we could never build anything like this."

"That is not important," Rosalind said, a sense of urgency filling her voice. "What _is_ important is your mission."

"Right," Buck said, eyes still stuck on the beautiful horizon. "So what do you need?"

"Your mission is to find a man with an _A.D._ branded onto the outside of his right hand," said the green-eyed Rosalind, holding Robert's right hand and pointing to it.

"OK, sounds easy enough. And what am I supposed to do when I find this guy?"

"Help him," said a very serious Robert. "For him to succeed in his mission, you must ensure his survival, at any means necessary."

Buck finally pulled his gaze away from the view. "And if I do this, you'll send me back?"

"Most certainly."

"If that's the case, then I'm in." Buck stuck out his hand, expecting one of them to return the handshake, but neither did. Feeling foolish, crossed his arms at his chest. "So, can I have my gun and knife back?"

Rosalind held the M6C in her hand, carefully inspecting it. "Wouldn't it be more of a challenge to accomplish this without the aid of your advanced weaponry, instead relying upon the weapons technology of a time well before your own?"

"Bullets are bullets, no matter where you're from. And I'm a soldier, ma'am; anything you give me, I can probably kill you with it. Not you, personally, but… you know."

Rosalind sighed. "Fair enough." She handed him back his silenced weapon, along with three clips of ammunition.

"Only three clips, eh," asked Buck, sliding a fresh clip into the pistol. He put the sidearm into a holster underneath his vest, the other two clips into his back pocket, and held out his hand to Robert. "And the knife. Come on, pretty boy, hand it over."

Robert gave Buck his knife, placed in a sheath that would blend in here much better than Buck's would. Buck unsheathed the twenty centimeter knife, examined it in the sunlight, placed it back in its holder, and clipped the sheath to his pant waist. Buck took one last look at the view from the railing, and let out a low whistle.

"Hey, so what's this guy's mission that I have to help him with, anyway," Buck asked, backing away from the railing. He turned to see that he was speaking with no one, then looked around to see where the two left to. "Hello? Hello?" He sighed, straightened his vest, and saw an advertisement for an 'Annual Fair' at the Fairgrounds.

"I bet that's where this guy is," Buck said to himself. He shrugged, and walked up a couple of steps in the direction of the Fairgrounds.

Along the way, he soaked in everything he was seeing. He saw a group of children laugh, run, and play with each other. He saw an old woman walking a fluffy dog, while a father carried his son on his shoulders, and a married couple lovingly kissed underneath a tree. All the while, the city around and under them floated hundreds of thousands of feet above the Earth.

These people had the luxury of something Buck never found… peace. For as long as he could remember, Buck knew nothing but conflict and fighting. From the Insurrection period, to the Great War, even when the Forerunner Commander known as The Didact vaporized New Phoenix, Buck was always around death and war.

Buck envied these people – not a lot, but a good bit. They knew nothing of the horrors of facing down a collection of space-faring, genocidal aliens bent on the destruction of humanity. Buck knew his history, he knew it damn well, and this was a good time in America. No internal strife breaking apart the country like the Civil War did in the 1860s, World War I was still two years away – America's direct involvement five years away – and Prohibition and the Great Depression wouldn't happen for another decade.

For the first time in a long time, as Buck walked through a brick road of the floating city, Buck was relaxed. While he was still on the lookout for the man with the branding, Buck was taking his time with a stroll through the city block.

The Marine came to a roadblock, where there was a wide gap between the platform he and several others were standing on and another one. Buck watched as the parade of balloon floats drifted by, and tried to understand what they were saying; something about an "Angel of Columbia" coming down to a "Father Comstock" with a vision, then the birth of a "miracle child".

The platforms connected, and the roadblock automatically lifted. "OK, everyone through," said the policeman guarding the roadblock. "Good luck at the raffle, folks."

"Raffle," Buck asked the policeman, as everyone passed by. "What raffle?"

"You must be new here, sir. The annual Secession Day Raffle is something you don't want to miss. Now move along, please."

Buck politely nodded his head, and moved across the bridge to the next platform. He saw everywhere advertisements for the Raffle, along with posters about this "Lamb of Columbia" and the "Prophet Comstock." _Whoever this Comstock was,_ Buck thought. _He must have some sway here in Columbia._

Buck continued following the sounds of commotion, and came upon the Columbia Fairgrounds. The area, best described as a market square, was packed to the gills with citizens of Columbia. There were tons of booths, too, with a wide variety of products being advertised.

Booker passed by a booth advertising personal audio recorders called 'Voxophones' when a he passed a booth advertising something called 'Devil's Kiss'. Buck lingered for a moment, prompting the booth operator to try and reel him in. Buck ignored him, though, as he wasn't into buying any snake oil remedies.

What truly got Buck's attention was the shooting gallery directly across from the snake oil vendor. The booth was called 'Hunt Down the Vox', and the weapon being used looked to be an old-fashioned carbine rifle. While Buck was more of a machine gun user, he had some skill with a single-shot weapon.

"Step right up, step right up," said the energetic booth operator. "Bulls-eye every target, and win fifty Silver Eagles _and_… one free ticket to the Raffle!"

Buck approached the booth, reached into his pocket, pulled out several silver coins, and placed them on the table. "What the hell, I'll have a crack at it."

"Oh-ho-ho! We've got ourselves a challenger over here!" The operator picked up the carbine and handed it to Buck. Buck examined the rifle's sights, then the weight of the gun, and nodded in approval.

"Not bad. Not bad at all."

"At the sound of the buzzer, start firing, son." The man stepped back, and grabbed a lever. "On your mark… get set… go!"

The shooting targets began to fly around the back of the display on rails, going at a fairly difficult speed for someone who never handled a gun before. But for Buck, they were going just slow enough. With a cool hand and ice in his veins, the ODST fired six perfectly-placed shots into the targets' center. The buzzer sounded, and all six targets were shot dead-center.

"Yeah," exclaimed Buck, shooting his arms high into the air in celebration. "Who's the man, huh? That's right, it's me!"

"Well aren't you the excitable type?"

Buck gently placed the gun on the table. "So where's that ticket I won?"

"Now hold on just a second there, partner." The man held up his arms to Buck, and pointed to the man next to him. "We have to wait for the gentleman next to you to go. Are you ready, sir?"

Buck looked over at the man standing next to him, carbine rifle aimed at where the targets would be. He was roughly Buck's height, maybe an inch or two shorter, had medium length dark brown hair – similar to Buck's – and had bright green eyes.

"Ready," said the man, with a deep voice. He tightly gripped the weapon, finger resting inches away from the trigger.

The bell rang, and the targets danced around the shooting area. With cold precision, the man fired away at the moving targets with the carbine. He hit each target with precise accuracy, leaving bullet marks dead-center of the targets. However, on the last target, he was just a bit off, and the last shot hit outside the bulls-eye.

"Ooh, close but no cigar, partner," said the booth operator, snapping his fingers. "All but one bulls-eye. And our winner is contestant number one!" The operator reached underneath his booth, and pulled out a jingling bag and a red ticket. "That was a good show of shooting there, son. Where'd you learn to handle a gun like that?"

"Cuba," Buck lied, stuffing the bag of coins and ticket into his vest pocket. "Battle of San Juan Hill."

"Ah, teaching a thing or two to those spicks, eh?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." Buck uncomfortably turned away from the vendor and faced the stranger, who looked mildly annoyed. "Hey, that was some good shooting back there. Not good enough, but good nonetheless."

"Almost, friend, almost." The man extended his hand. "The name's DeWitt. Booker DeWitt."

The ODST happily extended his hand for a shake. "Eddie Buck." The two shook hands, and Buck noticed something on Booker's hand. It was the letters A.D. burned into them. Buck's eyes fluttered at the sight of them, but he didn't give any kind of indications away. "Hey, weird question, but do you know of any identical twin red-heads?"

"I might have run into them before. Why?"

"OK, this is gonna sound really weird, but they told me I have to help you."

"Me?" Booker chuckled. "How do you know it's me that needs help?"

"Because of that mark on your hand."

Booker stared down at the branding on his hand, then back at Buck. The man looked Buck up and down, silently examining him for the slightest hint at possible betrayal. After a few moments of awkward silence, Booker simply shrugged. "They never said I'd be getting any help."

"They say sometimes the best help is the kind you don't expect."

"I can't argue with that." Booker and Buck started to head for the pair of big gates at the end of the Fairgrounds. "So you're good with a gun at a booth, there's no denying that. But how good are you when you've got bullets flying all around you, death all but a certainty?"

"You don't get this good with a gun without getting some real-world experience, Booker."

"That's right. Didn't you say to that man back there you were at San Juan Hill?"

"Yeah, about that," Buck leaned in closer to Booker. "I wasn't really at San Juan Hill."

"So then where did you fight? Manila? Santiago? Guantanamo Bay?"

Buck silently pondered for a second. Should he reveal that he's from the future now, or keep lying? "Let's just say I'm part of a special operations unit that prevents conflicts like the ones going on in Europe from dragging America into them."

"Fair enough."

The two made their way through the busy street, coming along a large bronze door, with a pretty woman standing off to the left at a booth. The woman, holding a basket of free samples for something called 'Possession', waved the two men down, and they approached the booth.

"Want to take back control from the metal man," the woman asked the two. "Want to bring those who've done you wrong under your control? Then take a sip of Possession."

The woman reached into her basket and pulled out two canisters for Booker and Buck. The top of the canister was shaped like a woman resting on a bed, with her arm in the air and neck craned back. Inside the glass jar was a glowing green liquid, and a sticker with the logo of a knife through a heart was placed dead-center of the bottle.

"Thanks," said Buck, gently pushing it away. "But no thanks."

Booker, on the other hand, flipped the bottle between his hands and opened the top of the canister.

"Just a whisper," the woman said seductively. "And they're all yours."

Booker drank from the bottle, and he staggered back slightly. The woman drew a heart with her hands, and Booker reached out to touch her. His eyes widened, and he looked like he was lost in a fog. The woman didn't check to see if he was alright; instead, she blew him a kiss and giggled.

Just as quickly as he had drank it and began to act strange, Booker shook his head and was back to his normal self.

"Hey Booker, you alright?"

"What the hell was that?" DeWitt looked back at Buck. "Yeah, I'm fine. Let's keep moving."

The woman winked at the two and giggled. "See you around, boys."

Booker and Buck approached the automaton placed at the opening of the door. They tried to pass through the opening, but the automaton bent itself in a way that blocked the two from entering. The sudden movement of the robot slightly startled Buck, while Booker looked more annoyed than spooked.

"Sorry folks, only those with a ticket can enter, and they're all sold out."

Buck pulled the ticket out of his pocket, and placed it into a slot near the base of the robot. Gears whirred for a moment, and the machine's arms lifted. "Your ticket has been accepted. Enjoy your time at the Raffle!"

Buck and Booker quickly walked through before anyone noticed, and the doors closed behind them.

On the other side were the two red-heads that Buck had met before. The man, Robert, had a chalkboard hanging around his neck, while the woman, Rosalind, was holding a porcelain plate. Buck noticed most of the markings on the chalkboard were on the Heads side.

"Heads," asked Robert.

"Or tails," asked Rosalind.

"Come on," said Booker. "Let us through."

Robert tossed Booker a Silver Eagle, which Booker caught with ease. "Heads."

"Or tails."

Booker sighed, and flipped the coin in the air. "Heads." The coin landed perfectly on the plate, and it landed heads. Robert smiled, while Rosalind looked irritated.

"Told you," said Robert, with a hint of smugness, as Rosalind silently made another mark in the Heads column. "I never find that as satisfying as I imagined."

The sister picked up Robert's chin. "Chin up, there's always next time."

"I suppose there is." The two walked away, leaving Buck and DeWitt puzzled. As they were moving on, Rosalind held Buck back briefly.

"I see you have met Mr. DeWitt rather easily."

"Sure did," Buck said proudly. "And he hasn't gotten himself into any trouble yet, so this is turning a lot easier than you two made it out to be."

"Oh, believe me, Edward; Things are going to get much more difficult."

"Nothing I can't handle."

"We'll see," said Robert, spinning the coin on the plate.

"Hey Buck," shouted Booker from around the bend. "You get lost or something?"

"Yeah, I'm on my way." Buck looked back one more time at the twins, before leaving to join Booker.

"A confident one," said Robert, watching as Buck and Booker followed the signs to the Raffle. "Isn't he?"

"Indeed, that's why we chose him. But his confidence will only take him so far."

Meanwhile, as the Lutece twins stood at attention outside the main gate, Booker and Eddie continued on their path to the Raffle. While this part of Columbia was less populated than the Fairgrounds, or even where Buck was strolling through, it was much more ornate and decorated with artwork and plant life than any other area.

"Where are we going, anyway," Buck asked, climbing up a set of steps. Booker pulled out a card from his vest pocket, and showed it to Buck. It was a picture of an angelic statue, with the words 'Monument Island' placed above the statue. "So that's it? What you need to find is inside this statue?"

"Right." Booker stuffed the picture back into his vest pocket.

"And exactly what's in the statue that needs you to rescue it?"

"A girl. My employers are willing to erase all my debts if I bring her back to New York City, unharmed."

"A girl? That's it?" Buck broke out into laughter. "Those two think you need my help for _that_? Aw man, this is unreal. You must be some kind of screw-up if you can't get to a God damn statue without my help."

Booker began to walk ahead of Buck, and as they reached the top of the steps, Buck finally stopped laughing. He saw the mammoth statue in the distance, with fireworks exploding around it. It was gigantic, and Buck couldn't help but stare and let out an amazed whistle.

"Come on," said DeWitt, nudging Buck. "Let's cut through the Raffle."

The two men began their way towards the Raffle when they came across a poster. It featured the words _You Shall Know the False Shepherd by His Mark_, and it as a grotesque hand with the letters _AD_ on the outer top of it.

"What the," muttered Booker, holding his hand up.

"Shit. This just got a lot tougher, didn't it?"

"We'll be fine as long as we don't give anyone a reason to look our way," said Booker, shoving his hand into his pocket. "Besides, just a few seconds ago you were laughing up a storm about how easy this was going to be."

"Yeah, that was before we knew the whole city was on the look-out for a guy with your branding on his hand."

"Whatever happens, we'll handle it. Now let's keep moving." The duo traveled a few feet more before they came upon another advertisement, this time warning the people about someone called The Dark Saint. It featured a man cloaked in all-black, with only its pale-white face, empty black eyes and fiendish grin showing, and the words _BEWARE THE DARK SAINT FOR HE WALKS AMONG US_ presented very prominently.

"Looks like I'm not the only one people should be on the look-out for," said DeWitt, motioning Buck to the figure in the poster.

Buck looked at the poster for a moment, and snorted. "What, you think that's me," asked Buck, pointing to the person in the picture. "Come on, it looks nothing like me; they've got the nose all wrong."

Booker rolled his eyes and continued on up a flight of stairs to where the Raffle was taking place in a sun-drenched bowl, with a red, white and blue-colored stage and throngs of people singing along with the man on stage. Buck saw the path to Monument Island, and pointed it out to Booker. The two waded through the crowded bowl, only to be stopped by one of the raffle employees.

"And now," said the man on stage, to the applause of everyone. "The nineteen twelve Raffle has officially begun!"

"Mister, hey mister," a woman holding a basket of baseballs shouted. "How about something for a couple of handsome men like yourselves?"

"Sorry ma'am," said Buck, waving her off. "But we're trying to get to Monument Island."

The woman laughed. "Don't you know? Everything's closed down during the Raffle. You'll just have to wait till it's over." She then turned to Booker, holding her basket in his face.

"Sorry, no sale."

The woman giggled again. "Silly, there's never a charge for the Raffle. You been sleeping under a rock?"

"Just pick a ball and get it over with," said Buck, leaning in so the girl wouldn't hear.

Booker sighed, and reached into the basket, pulling out a baseball with the number 77 written in red. "Seventy-seven."

"Seventy-seven? That's a lucky number." The girl walked away and winked at DeWitt. "I'll be rooting for you."

As Buck playfully elbowed Booker in the arm, the man onstage held up his arms. "Bring me… the bowl!" A woman dressed in the same colors as the stage walked on stage, carrying a flag-decorated bowl. "Isn't that the prettiest young white girl in Columbia," the man asked, the cheering approval of the crowd. He then reached his hand into the bowl, and pulled out a red ticket. "The winner is… number seventy-seven!"

"Well what do you know," Booker muttered, as the woman from before pointed to the winner. The man on stage looked straight at Booker and smiled. "Number seventy-seven, come and claim your prize!" The man threw the card into the air, and the curtains behind him opened. "First throw!"

On stage, being wheeled forward by some unseen system, were a man and a woman, both tied to posts and struggling to free themselves. The white-skinned man wore a tattered suit, while the dark-skinned woman wore a dirtied and torn dress.

The crowd loudly and derisively sang a wedding theme, as the captured man shouted for the woman to be let go.

"Are you fucking kidding me," muttered Buck, disgusted by the sight in front of him.

"Come on now," said the man onstage, waving at Booker. "Or are you taking your coffee _black_ these days?" The man laughed at his own joke, and waved Booker on to throw the ball.

Booker looked at Buck, who angrily nodded, and turned back to the man. "I've got something for you, you son of a bitch." Booker reared his arm back, and aimed at the man. He was about to rip a fast one at him, but his arm was caught from behind by a policeman.

Three more policemen closed in on the two, as the first looked at Booker's branding. "It's him!" The policeman showed the mark to the man on stage.

As Booker struggled to free himself, the emcee of the event's eyes widened as he was shown the AD brand. He closed in on DeWitt, and pointed to him. "Where'd you get that mark, boy? Don't you know that makes you the backstabbing, snake-in-the-grass False Shepherd?" As another officer restrained Booker, Buck felt two policemen restrain his arms. The man walked over to Buck. "And that would make_ you_ the deceiving Dark Saint!"

"It's them! It's the False Shepherd and the Dark Saint," a man in the back shouted, causing the crowd to murmur and yell.

The announcer turned to the crowd with his arms in the air. "And we ain't gonna let no False Shepherd or Dark Saint into _our_ flock, are we? Show them what we got planned, boys!"

The crowd cheered as the policemen surrounded Buck and Booker. One of the officers restraining Buck pulled out a black nightstick, while one near Booker unhooked a hand-held device from his belt. It looked like a metallic glove, but with three hooks on the end instead of finger slots. The hooks began spinning at a rapid pace, and the officer was inching it towards Booker's face.

In an instant, Booker tossed his ball into the air, distracting the policemen long enough to grab on of them and slam their face into the whirring hooks, leaving nothing but a bloody mess of his face. The other officer pulled away, allowing Booker the opportunity to slide his arm into the hook device, and use it to slice deep gouges into the officer's body.

Buck, meanwhile, used the commotion caused by DeWitt to wrench his right arm free. He reached into his vest holster, pulled out his sidearm, and put an armor-piercing round in the cop's throat. As the first cop clutched his throat and gargled blood, Buck slammed the second officer into the stage, and put three rounds in the center of his body. Buck retrieved the pistols from their corpses, and tossed one to Booker.

The crowd, having witnessed the deaths of four police officers, disbursed in a panic, while the announcer hid behind the now-closed curtains.

"This way," said Buck, pointing to the top of the steps. The two wanted men sprinted up the stairs, and froze as they saw two whole squads of armed police officers.

* * *

**A/N: Shit's starting to get real, now. Big, big, BIG s/o to** _Harlequin de Rustre_ **for beta-reading this and giving his corrections and critiques. I think with him helping me along the way until I can do this without his help will greatly benefit you, the reader.**

**Once again, please read and review!**


	3. Lambs, Shepherds & Saints

**A/N: Really happy with the way this one turned out, with the mix of action and plot progression. Big thanks to **_LucDragoon_**, my newest beta reader,**** for giving me corrections and tips for the new chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or settings created by Bungie Studios/343 Industries or Irrational Games/2K Australia**

* * *

Bullets raced past the two as they scurried for cover from the imposing force of policemen. Outnumbered six-to-one and with the nearest bridge to Monument Island closed off, Booker and Buck were forced to fight off the large amount of officers with only a pair of pistols.

"Well this escalated quickly," said Buck, pistol held ready to attack. "You see anywhere out of here?"

Bullets zinged off the overturned hot dog stand the two were using for cover, as Booker looked around for a way out of the court. Just then, he saw it; a dark, desolate alley filled with malfunctioning machinery. It was far away enough that it left the officer's pistols out of range, but close enough that the two wanted men wouldn't be in the open for too long.

"Alley," shouted Booker, pointing behind them. "Cover me!"

Booker sprinted from his cover and towards the alleyway behind them, while Buck fired off enough shots from his new pistol to pick off a few careless policemen and force the rest into cover. Feeling that he had enough of an opening, Buck took off from behind the cart, sprinting the whole way while DeWitt provided cover fire. Buck just made it behind a broken-down vendor machine when the police resumed firing.

"Keep moving, keep moving," Buck shouted, running forward. He was just about to run up a nearby ramp when he saw what was placed at the top of it; an automated turret gun.

It was modeled after a soldier firing a machine gun, and the light on the top of its "head" went from yellow to red and opened fire on Buck.

"Not that way, not that way," exclaimed Buck, ducking behind a box as the bullets tore through the area he just occupied. "Shit's really hit the fan on this one! You got a plan to get us outta this mess?"

"I've got something, alright," Booker said, eyes and hands suddenly glowing green.

"Um... Booker? What are you doing," Buck asked, confused and concerned about the glowing coming from DeWitt.

Booker flicked his left hand, and a green, ghostly image sprang forth. Buck watched as the ghost flew at the turret and jump inside it, giving the turret a ghostly aura around it.

The turret, now under the possession of the ghostly spirit, stopped firing at Buck, and instead turned its bullets on the oncoming charge of officers. The bullets cut through them like a hot knife through butter, and in a matter of seconds every single officer lay dead.

"Come on," said Booker, sprinting out from his cover and up the ramp. "Let' go!"

Buck, still unsure of what had just happened, lagged behind. "You gonna tell me what happened back there any time soon?"

"Must've been something in that jar," Booker calmly replied, taking cover from another squad of officers.

The two groups traded fire – bullets filling the once-calm Columbian air – before Booker and Buck took down the officers with precise shots. They looted the bodies for ammo, and progressed forward.

The two came upon another double-door gate, separating one half of the block from the rest. As Buck and Booker went to open the gate, Buck could feel the sweat starting to form on his forehead.

"Hey," said Booker, taking a break to clear the sweat from his eyes. "You feel that?"

"The heat? Yeah, what is that?"

The sight awaiting Booker and Buck on the other side of the gate shocked them both. Buildings and trees were engulfed in flames, and standing in the middle of the street on an overturned cart was a man covered head-to-toe in boilerplate armor. The armor, which looked like it had been slapped on half-hazardly, had glowing tubes running the length of its body.

"IN THE NAME OF OUR GREAT PROPHET," it shouted, flames erupting from its hands. "YOU MUST… BURN!"

Booker and Buck unloaded on the figure with their pistols, rounds exploding from the barrels and impacting the armor of their new foe. Rather than go down under the withering storm of lead, though, the figure simply staggered back and bellowed a maniacal laughter as the fire from its hands intensified. The figure cocked its arm back, and let fly a ball of fire that caused the duo to duck for cover behind a hot dog stand.

The ball of lava made contact with the stand, and it immediately erupted into flames. The figure continued to laugh as the two reloaded their weapons. Buck went looking for another pistol magazine when his hand absentmindedly brushed against his M6C.

An idea formed in the gruff soldier's mind, as he slapped a fresh clip into the pistol.

"Take this," said Buck, handing Booker his sidearm. "Draw its attention. I'm gonna flank it, and take that thing down."

"Take it down? With what, your fists?"

Buck pulled out his M6C sidearm from his vest holster, and thumbed the safety to _off_. The two hunkered down even more, as their cover continued to burn away.

"Go," Buck shouted, as another fire attack whizzed over their heads and landed well out of range.

Booker sprang to his feet and sprinted behind a nearby building edge, unloading with both pistols along the way. Although none of the bullets DeWitt fired took it down, he did enough to take the figure's focus away from the stand Buck was still behind.

As the armor-cloaked man pounded Booker's position, Buck wheeled around from the stand and squeezed the trigger. The silenced pistol spat a trio 12.7 x 40mm M228 Semi-Armor-Piercing High-Penetration rounds. The bullets cleaved through the fiery air and impacted the flame-thrower's head with deadly effects. Holes the size of a fist opened up above where Buck imagined its eye would be, and the figure collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Before Buck could move in to confirm the kill, a high-pitched whine started to grow louder and louder. Buck instinctively dove for cover, and the armor exploded in a hellish display, sending pieces of its armor flying everywhere. A piece of shrapnel knifed itself into the cobblestone street just inches from Buck's head.

Satisfied that he was still in one piece, Buck lifted himself off the ground to take a look at the damage. There was nothing left of the fire-tosser except for a bottle of glowing-red liquid and a blackened crater where he once stood. The trees in the immediate area had turned to ash, leaving only stumps behind, and the windows of nearby buildings were shattered.

_Hell of a last-resort tactic_, Buck thought.

"Sure made quick work of him," Booker said, tossing Buck's pistol back to him. "What the hell did you hit him with?"

Buck ejected the empty clip and slapped in a fresh one. "Those, my friend, were twelve-point-seven by forty millimeter semi-armor-piercing, high-penetration rounds."

"Armor piercing?"

"It's like a regular bullet, only coated with a hard metal that gives it enough oomph to travel through armored targets and come out the other side. It's only semi armor-piercing, though; don't wanna hit an innocent behind the intended target."

Booker solemnly nodded in approval. "I've never heard of a bullet like that before. Or seen a gun likes yours, for that matter. I didn't even hear you shoot it."

"Oh, you mean this little beauty?" Buck held up his weapon like he was selling it on some kind of infomercial. "The M6C/SOCOM. Whisper-quiet, thanks to a built-in sound suppressor, but strong enough to put a man down from fifty meters out."

Booker let out an impressed whistle, forcing a satisfied grin onto Buck's face. "Yup, we spec-ops get all the best toys."

"I think you'd be better off sticking with that," said DeWitt, moving ahead to inspect the smoking crater.

Buck followed closely behind, shaking his head in disappointment. "I've only got two more clips with me," said the Marine, sliding the pistol back into his vest. "And I know no one here's gonna be carrying ammo like mine around."

"Damn shame," Booker said, inspecting the bottle. He brought it up closer and read the fine-print under the label's image. "Devil's Kiss... interesting."

Booker popped the top of the bottle open, and took a whiff of its contents. The private investigator tossed the bottle to Buck, who recoiled when he sniffed the liquid. It smelled like burning sulfur wrapped in burnt hair, and Buck resisted the urge to wretch as he handed the bottle back to Dewitt.

"God _damn_ that's rank," exclaimed Buck, taking a few steps away to get some fresh air.

"You only live once," Booker muttered, and took a swig of the bottle. As soon as he gulped, Booker fell to his knees.

"What'd you say, Book?" Buck turned around only to see his partner on his knees and screaming. Buck rushed over to DeWitt and, and was horrified to see the skin on Booker's hands melt away, exposing his finger bones.

"Jesus Christ!" Buck was about to look for something to put out the fire before he saw, out of the corner of his eye, another squad of officers charging through the gate to their left. Buck dragged Booker away to cover as bullets flew around them.

As the skin on his hands regenerated and returned to normal, Booker gathered himself. He slowly stood up from the ground, and held his hand out. In an instant, his hands glowed a burning orange, as if they were engulfed by pure fire, and a ball of molten lava appeared out of thin air over DeWitt's hand. He stepped out from cover and threw the fireball with all his might, and scored a direct hit with the lead officer.

The lava-ball exploded upon contact, and the officer flailed around as he burned to death. The other policemen, stunned at the sight of their fellow lawman, dropped their guns and fled before Booker riddled them with bullets.

Booker turned back to Buck, wide-eyed and mouth agape in awed silence at the sight of fire shooting straight out of someone's hands. In a matter of seconds, his partner had gone from completely incapacitated with his hands melting, to throwing fireballs generated from nothing.

"What," Booker casually asked, collecting spare ammunition from the fallen officers.

"That… that shouldn't have happened." Buck slowly waked up to the burnt body of the officer hit by Booker's ball of lava. He covered his nose so he wouldn't inhale too much of the smell of burnt flesh. "What the hell was in that bottle?"

"Beats me, but I liked it." Booker tossed a few ammo magazines to Buck. "I think there was a little bit left back there if you want some."

"Hell no, I'm not putting that crap anywhere near my body. Who knows what that'll do to your insides."

"Aw what's the matter? The big, bad special forces soldier afraid of a little mystery juice?"

"Excuse me if I give a shit about not wanting my body riddled with cancer, or whatever that stuff gives you, in the name of being able to shoot fireballs out of my hands."

The sound of a loud alarm coming from the distance brought the two out of their debate, and they ran into the nearby bistro, The Blue Ribbon, before any police officers knew where they went.

* * *

The inside of The Blue Ribbon looked very fancy, a little too fancy for someone of Buck's liking. The walls were a smoky oak color, while the floors had very intricate carvings into them, and hung from every window were blue curtains. The tables looked like they were made from the same dark wood the walls were made of, while each were covered with blue felt that matched the drapes, and had little rugs underneath them.

This was definitely not Buck's kind of atmosphere. The ODST was more into hole-in-the-wall type establishments, not places that looked like officer's clubs.

The two turned into the bar section, and were greeted by the red-headed twins again. While Robert was wiping down the bar – which was occupied by a passed out drunk – his sister Rosalind was standing in the doorway, with a pair of beakers containing yellow liquid placed square in the middle of a silver tray.

Robert looked up from the bar top and smiled. "Well, we have company."

"We do indeed," replied Rosalind, voice devoid of any shock.

"Why are you following us," asked Booker, pointing his pistol at them. The twins, however, didn't react to Booker's threats in the slightest.

"_We_ were already here," answered Rosalind.

"So that begs the question," Robert asked, lifting his head from the bar. "Why are _you_ following _us_?"

At a loss for words, Booker sighed and lowered his weapon. Booker and Buck walked forward, passing by the drunk resting at the bar, and towards the path Rosalind was blocking.

"Apéritif," asked the sister, holding the tray up to Booker and Buck. Booker took the vial without a second thought and downed its contents.

_How this guy just goes head-first into anything without any thought_, Buck thought to himself. _It just doesn't make any sense._

Booker shivered, and a yellow light shimmered across Booker. It reminded Buck of the personal energy shields surrounding the SPARTANs and Elites.

"What the hell was that," asked Booker, running his hand over his arm, feeling an invisible resistance.

"Hmm, satisfying."

"Satisfying that it worked?"

"Satisfying that it didn't kill him."

"I suppose having a magnetic repulser can come in handy."

"If it doesn't kill you, that is." Rosalind turned her attention to the man out of time. "And you, Mr. Buck. Would you care to partake in the marvels of science?"

Buck pushed away the tray. "I'll pass."

"Hmm." The green-eyed woman gently placed the tray on the nearby table, and stared through Buck like he wasn't even there. "You've so far refused both Vigors, and now you are refusing a personal shield – all objects that will greatly increase the odds of your survival here. Why?"

"Don't do this, Rosalind," said a tired-sounding Robert. "It's rather unnecessary."

Rosalind continued, ignoring her brother. She began circling Buck, like a hungry shark ready to feast. "It's remarkable that someone who has no prior experience in dealing with the combatants of Columbia would, time and time again, staunchly refuse to use items that would give them an advantage."

"I don't need my genetics changed to make me a better soldier," said Buck, first pointing to the beaker, then himself. "I don't need to end up like them."

"Them," Rosalind prodded. "You mean those brutish super-soldiers you call Spartans? I hardly see why becoming like one of them would be a deterrent to accepting the gifts this setting provides you."

"I think calling those titans 'brutish' is a bit harsh," said Robert, exiting from behind the bar to join his twin. "While I don't exactly approve of their methods, I simply can't help but admire the beauty of the chaos and destruction they leave in their wakes."

"Irrelevant, dear brother. Please do stay on topic."

"I don't need special armor or augmentations," Buck defensively interrupted. "I'm an ODST, a damn good one, and I've lived this long without anyone shoving shit down my throat to make me into something I'm not."

Booker, standing off to the side during this entire spat, grew restless. The longer he was in Columbia, the less likely he was to finish his mission in an ideal time. After listening to these three argue for what he felt was long enough, Booker took out his pistol and fired a round into the air.

The round bounced off the hardwood floor, and Buck and the twins stopped arguing long enough for Booker to let his voice be heard.

"Will someone explain to me what the hell is going on here?" Booker turned to Buck. "What's this talk about super-soldiers and augmentations?"

Robert turned to Buck, mocking astonishment. "You mean you haven't told him of your origins?" The red-head wagged his finger at Buck like a disapproving mother would to a child. "I'm very disappointed in you, Edward."

Buck looked over at Booker, and back at the twins, who motioned him to move on.

"Booker, I don't know how to say this, so I'm just gonna say it." Buck took a deep breath and looked DeWitt directly in the eyes. "I'm a Gunnery Sergeant in the United Nations Space Command Marine Corps."

Booker gave Buck a vacant stare, so Buck took that as a sign that he was to continue.

"One-hundred fifth Orbital Drop Shock Troop Division, a special operations branch of the Marines – I wasn't lying about that. I was in the middle of a scrap when I was incapacitated by the enemy, and the next thing I know I'm here."

"Never heard of a United Nations Space Command."

"That's because it doesn't exist yet."

Booker took a step back, eyes narrowed and focused on Buck. "So that would mean…"

"Yeah," Buck said, uneasily rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm… from the future."

Booker looked at a straight-faced Booker, then to the neutral-faced twins. A smile snuck onto Booker's face, followed by a snicker, and then it evolved into outright laughter. Tears were streaming from Booker's eyes he was laughing so hard, while Buck simply sighed and rolled his eyes.

Booker took another look at Buck, and let out an uproar of laughter, walking out of the bar in the process.

Buck looked back at the twins, gave them both the finger, and followed DeWitt.

"Mr. Buck," Rosalind called out, drawing the soldier back into the room. "I know you won't take our gift of a reflective shield, but you must take this." Rosalind walked over to the bar and pulled out a hook-device similar to the one Booker pulled off the officer from the Raffle.

"While the magnetic repulser field was optional, the Sky-Hook is something you can_not_ live without if you wish to survive in Columbia."

Buck took the device, noting how much lighter it was than he thought it would be, and slipped it on his arm. He pressed a trigger inside, and Buck could hear a tiny motor humming as the hooks spun rapidly.

"Fits nice, seems simple to use," said Buck, carefully looking over his new possession. "So what am I supposed to–"

Buck turned around and expected Robert and Rosalind would be still standing there, but the only person left in the bistro was the drunk at the bar. There weren't any traces of the two in the bar, aside from the rag Robert was using to wipe down the counter and the silver tray Rosalind was holding.

"–do with it." Buck sighed, removing the Sky-Hook from his arm and hooking it to his belt. "Really starting to get sick of that."

* * *

After evading patrols of gunships and zeppelins, and learning how to use the Sky-Hooks to travel across the abundant freighter hooks placed on nearly every building, the two fugitives continued their search for a safe passage to Monument Island.

They had just finished clearing out a courtyard lousy with soldiers and turrets, collecting more than enough ammunition for their pistols and newly-acquired machine guns and carbine rifles, and were heading towards where a kind couple had said a passage to Monument Island existed – directly behind the headquarters of an organization called 'The Fraternal Order of the Raven'.

"So," Booker said, interrupting the eerie silence as they marched towards their destination. "What kind of activity did you do for these _Orbital Drop Shock Troopers_?"

The way Booker said ODST irked him; his voice was layered thick with disbelief and outright mockery.

"Just your usual spec-ops assignments; counter-terrorism, long-range surveillance and recon, high-risk deep insertions, unconventional warfare. You know, ops too tough for the standard file-and-rank jarheads."

"Right." Once again, Booker's voice was caked with sarcasm.

"I know you don't believe me, but I'm telling the truth."

"Whatever you say, spaceman." Booker stopped at the lightly painted gates. "This is the place."

The surprisingly heavy gates creaked as the two fugitives pushed against it. As they entered into the courtyard, a large flock of crows collectively cawed and flew high into the sky.

Although the sun was shining high overhead, the courtyard was so dark that it looked as though the sun had already set, casting dark shadows from the mammoth building before them. Above the entrance red 'Fraternal Order of the Raven.'

"Oh no," Buck sarcastically said, observing the dark scenery and abundance of crows. "This doesn't look shady at all."

"Come on," said Booker, walking past a statue of a bearded man battling a dragon. "Through here, in and out, and we're on Monument Island before they know it."

Booker swung the door open, and Buck brought his machine gun to bear. Scanning the room, Buck kept his weapon ready as he moved inside. Booker followed close by, watching their backside as the heavy door closed.

The two had to start breathing through their mouths to avoid taking a tiny sniff of the stench surrounding the room. At the center of the room was a bowl of rotting fruit being pecked by two ravenous crows. Adding to the smell of the rotten fruit was the bird feces covering every piece of furniture in the room.

The combination of the odors was so foul it was indescribable.

Booker directed Buck through a dim, empty bar, passing through a pitch-black library, and then through an abandoned dining area littered with more decaying foods and feasting crows. On the wall hung a large painting, featuring a demonic-looking Abraham Lincoln, with an angelic-looking Wilkes Booth holding a pistol behind him.

"These guys really have a thing for Wilkes Booth," said Buck, finger on the trigger should any foe come passing through.

"No kidding," Booker grimly replied.

The Pinkerton and the trooper came to a spiraling staircase in front of another shit-covered statue, and the two cautiously and quietly ascended to the top. As they reached the top of the steps, they saw a cloaked figure waiting at the far end of the hallway.

It didn't look to be facing Booker and Buck, or else it would've attacked them. The figured was covered in a purple-and-black cloak, with a matching hood hiding any discernable features. As Buck and Booker slowly made their way towards him, the figure still didn't sense their presence.

Seeing as there was no other way past him, Buck pulled out his combat knife and quietly approached the masked figure. The man didn't know the ODST was right on top of him until Buck covered the man's mouth with his hand and slit his throat. Blood gushed from the wound, and the dying man screamed and gurgled into Buck's palm.

The man slowly stopped clawing at Buck, his breaths slowed, and soon enough the man was dead. Buck dragged the body and expertly hid the body in a dark hallway, and the two crept towards a balcony.

Below in the main room, standing on a stage was a man dressed in an all-black robe and hood similar to that of the other eight people surrounding him, clearly signifying a higher rank than those below him. What stood out about him, aside from the black coffin chained to his back, were the trio of crows circling him.

Buck noted there was no way of sneaking past this group, as both stairways on opposite sides of the upper-level led to the convocation area. On the stage to the right of the all-black speaker, underneath an immense portrait of George Washington – bathed in gold light while those below groveled in the darkness – was a door.

Buck nudged Booker, and pointed out the door behind the black figure. "Looks like we're gonna have to go down there," said Buck, pulling out his silenced pistol.

"Yeah." Booker held his hand out, and a small flame erupted from his palm. "Looks that way."

Booker grinned as he extinguished the flame, following Buck's lead as they stealthily walked down the staircase.

Descending the stairs, the two overheard the leader of the group's 'sermon' to his followers.

"And so the Prophet led us to Peking, where we demonstrated to the _Sodom below_ the true mission that the Founders have given us."

The members surrounding their leader murmured in agreement, keeping their heads bowed at the wooden floor.

"I don't remember anything happening at Peking," Booker whispered, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs.

Buck shrugged as he flicked the M6C's safety to _off_, and aimed at the man on stage. He could feel the heat from Booker's hand as they neared the edge of the dark hallway.

With the leader's head in his sights, Bucks's squeezed the trigger. A .50 caliber bullet quietly erupted from the silenced barrel, barely making a sound as it traveled through the cranium of the black-hooded leader. Chunks of bone, brain matter and blood exploded out of the exit wound, and the lead hooded man crumbled to the stage in a noisy heap.

"Intruders," one of the masked figures shouted, pointing to Buck and Booker from the shadows. The other seven masked men, including the leader, looked over towards the Pinkerton and ODST.

"Kill them," announced another of the hooded men, pointing to the two. "Let Lady Comstock guide our blades and avenge our fallen Zealot!"

Each of the eight members unsheathed their sabers and turned to the two wanted men, meter-long blades thirsty for blood.

With a piercing war cry, the eight men charged at Booker and Buck. Buck swore as a blade slashed at his arm, and repaid him with a bullet through his neck.

Bullets tore through flesh, fireballs turned men into charred bodies, and after the last man fell from a hail of semi-armor-piercing pistol ammo and carbine rounds, the room was silent again.

Buck removed the empty magazine, and Buck slid in his last clip of ammo before tucking it back into his holster. With only twelve rounds of pistol ammunition left, Buck was now forced to use the silenced sidearm as a last resort.

"Through here," said Booker, throwing away an empty bottle with a raven symbol hanging from it.

* * *

The railways twisted and turned thousands of feet above the earth, weaving through buildings and under bridges. Sparks flew from the Sky-Hooks as Buck and Booker traveled the railways on their journey to Monument Island.

The fugitives came upon a large building, with over two dozen soldiers waiting for them. Buck brought his machine gun to bear and aimed at the mass of enemies until he heard a strange alarm, followed by a booming voice.

"Stand down," commanded the omniscient voice.

The soldiers, upon hearing the man – presumably their leader – speak, surprisingly dropped their weapons and knelt down. Some clasped their hands together and muttered a prayer, others remained silent.

Booker and Buck landed on the platform, sharing a confused look as the soldiers before them refused to pick up a weapon and shoot them down. Booker took advantage of the opportunity and stripped the weapons of their ammunition, while Buck kept his machine gun aimed at the group. DeWitt tossed several magazines to Buck, and the two entered the massive structure.

Inside the building stood over one hundred more soldiers, kneeling and praying in front of a monolithic portrait of a grey-bearded man, with an inscription reading 'Father Comstock, Our Prophet.'

_So THIS was the Father Comstock I've heard so much about,_ Buck thought.

The duo stepped on a platform, and gears whirred as the platform ascended into the air. As the lift went higher and higher, the portrait changed to a live-action shot of the so-called prophet.

The extreme close-up portrayed Comstock well into his seventies based on the deep wrinkles and snow-white hair and beard.

"I know why you have come, _False Shepherd_," bellowed Comstock, voice deep and gravelly. "I see every sin that blackens your soul. Wounded Knee… the Pinkertons… the drinking… the gambling. And of course… _Anna_."

Buck glanced over to Booker, who angrily glared at the old man on the screen.

Comstock continued, a scowl etched onto his elderly face. "And now, to repay a debt, you've come for _my _lamb. But not all debts can be repaid, Booker!"

Booker stepped towards the projection screen. "You don't know me, pal!"

Comstock snickered. "Prophecy is my business, Mr. DeWitt. As blood is yours."

Comstock's expression darkened as he leaned even closer to the camera. "Do you know why these men are willing to die for me? Because I have seen their future in the glory, and hence they are content. But what brought you to Columbia, Mr. DeWitt? _Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt_?"

Booker looked visibly shaken at Comstock's interrogation. "This _will_ end in blood, DeWitt. But then again, it always does with you… doesn't it? It _always_ ends in blood."

Booker took a step back, catching himself before falling back anymore, and brought his hand up to his nose. Blood pooled on his fingers, and ran down until it collected in his palm.

The Prophet turned his attention to Buck, who was glaring at the old man. "And you, the Dark Saint."

Comstock's voice was doused with venom directed towards the ODST. Buck, however, remained stoic. He was always taught by his trainers to never show your emotions when being dressed down or interrogated, and right now Buck would've made them proud.

"I don't know why you are here, but I care not for those privy details. As long as you remain with the False Shepherd, I cannot let you leave my Ark alive."

Comstock's face slightly softened, leaning back from the camera. "However, you possess skills that I could put to great use in my utopia. If you were to renounce your wicked ways, renounce your alliance with the False Shepherd, then I shall forgive you for all your wrongdoings."

The old man relaxed his voice, in an effort to persuade and Marine. "Edward Buck, pledge your allegiance to me, and I will make you head of my security force – answerable only to your Prophet. I will unleash you upon the rabble-rousers and dissidents that plague my New Eden. And in return, I can assure that you will be paid like a king, and live as a man of power until the Rapture comes."

Buck looked up at the man on the projection and smirked. It was an interesting offer the old man was giving him, he couldn't deny that. But Buck had no interest in turning against Booker, not when it meant not being able to go home.

"That's a mighty fine offer, Comstock. But I've had my fill of killing 'rabble-rousers and dissidents' for quite some time. So you can take your offer and shove it up your ass, old man."

His eyes narrowed, his lips pursed, and a throbbing vein appeared above Comstock's temple. And if this recording were in color, Comstock's face would surely be a fiery red.

The picture cut back to a portrait and when the lift reached the top, Booker and Buck quickly exited and sprinted down the long hallway.

"You've come to lead my lamb astray," Comstock exclaimed, voice thundering with authority. "But thy crook is bent, and thy path is twisted! Go back to the Sodom below from which you came!"

Buck and Booker continued sprinting down the long hallway, unsure if the soldiers they passed were going to fire back at them.

Buck looked to his right, and saw a massive aerial ship hovering just outside.

"GO BACK," Comstock roared, before an ear-deafening explosion knocked the duo off their feet and showered them with glass and other debris.

His ears ringing and vision impaired, Buck rubbed the dust and splinters from his eyes as he tried to steady himself along the wall. His legs wobbled as his vision slowly returned to normal, before being yanked along by Booker, nearly falling flat on his face.

"Aim for the hooks," Booker shouted, preparing to leap from the exposed walkway towards a freighter hook on the monolithic air vessel with his Sky-Hook at the ready.

Booker launched himself off the platform, and his magnetic Sky-Hook connected with the freighter hook. He landed on the wing of the craft, and ran inside weapon ready.

Buck's heart started pounding as he saw the distance from the airship. He was used to death-defying missions where he fit himself inside a metal shell and dropped from above an enemy-occupied planet, flak and anti-aircraft fire trying to send him to an early grave hundreds of thousands of feet above solid ground.

But using a magnetic hook-device to connect to a hook across a gap of at least ten feet? Buck felt his confidence wane with each passing second.

Bullets whizzed past him from down the hall, and Buck's hand was forced. He used every muscle in his body to move himself at top speed. He jammed his arm into the Sky-Hook, and leapt with all his strength to the hook. A strong magnetic pull dragged him across the gap, and he hooked himself to one of the dozens of freighter hooks littered around the wings.

Buck ran inside and saw two guards lay dead with bullet holes spread throughout. Buck saw the cockpit door open, and entered the large room. The room was very spacious, and aside from two framed portraits of Comstock and a woman - presumably his wife - surrounded by lit candles, there was nothing that stood out in the room... aside from the viewport.

Buck had been on the bridge of hundreds of warships throughout his military career, bu not many had a larger or more impressive central viewport than the ship he was currently on. The window took up the entire wall, and it dominated the otherwise plain room.

"Nice work out there," said Buck, impressed with Booker's handiwork.

As DeWitt worked the airship's controls, a smaller airship pulled up in front of them. Standing on the deck of the ship, surrounded by kneeling soldiers, was Comstock holding a microphone.

"The Lord forgives everything… but I'm just a Prophet, so I don't have to. Amen." The airship hovered away as quickly as it appeared.

"Amen," said a woman from behind, clutching a torch above her head. Buck was completely oblivious to her being in the room just a moment ago.

The woman let the torch fall from her grasp, and in an instant the entire cabin was engulfed in flames, the woman lost in the blaze.

Buck felt the ship lurch and quickly lose altitude. Booker was quickly at his side, a cloth covering his mouth from the noxious smoke.

"We have to go, right now!" Booker grabbed Buck's vest and blazed a trail through the fire. The fire quickly spread throughout the ship as Buck and Booker raced from the cabin to the escape door to jump.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Buck was no longer afraid of jumping out of a burning airship; he just wanted to survive the drop.

The two jumped, air rushing past them as they continued to fall until their Sky-Hooks connected with the Sky-Rails. The aerial ship burst into a spectacular explosion as the two raced across the metal tracks away.

Buck raced through the skies on the metal railing, trying with all his strength to keep his arm inside the Sky-Hook as he defied gravity and centrifugal force at extreme speeds. For every sharp turn and deep descent, Buck had to use every muscle in his left arm just to hang on. It wasn't just a test of strength, but also one of endurance.

They followed the Sky-line until it dumped them in front of a gondola station. The sign above read 'Monument Island'.

* * *

**A/N: Hopefully everyone agrees with my decision to not have Buck take any of the Vigors. I feel like Buck is one of those kind of people that doesn't need genetic augmentation to make him a better fighter, so I wrote it that way. Would it be cool to see Buck shooting lightning from his hands? Yeah, but that's not Buck.**

**Once again, please leave me a review when finished reading.**


	4. The Girl in the Tower

**A/N: You guys didn't think I had forgotten about you, did you? Between some Halloween fun, an increasingly hectic time at the office, and a bunch of other already existing and new projects (more to follow on that in towards the end), I've kind of struggled to carve out time for each thing accordingly. But here we are, at Chapter Four. **

**Once again, shoutout to **_LucDragoon_** for giving this a beta read and directing me with the appropriate changes and edits.**

**Disclaimer: I own none of the characters/settings created by Bungie Studios/343 Industries or Irrational Games/2K Australia, nor do I take credit for the creation of them.**

* * *

Hummingbirds hovered overhead as the sun shined down on the two weary fugitives. The two crossed underneath a towering archway, and on the other side was a grassy and moss-covered courtyard, with a large metal gate

Buck's machine gun was ready for the first sign of trouble, but his keen eyes hadn't seen any trouble. No sentries, no patrols, no watchtowers… hell, there weren't even any groundskeepers.

Buck thought it was incredibly odd that there was no one to stop him and Booker as he landed on the opposite side of a large gate.

"You'd think Comstock would have every armed man stationed here." Buck dusted off his pants and straightened his jacket and vest.

"But he didn't," Booker bluntly replied. "And there aren't any. So let's be thankful we caught a break for once."

Buck and Booker walked up the steps and passed a statue of an angel with a scroll. While Booker walked past the angelic sculpture, Buck lingered behind to read its inscription.

"_The seed of the Prophet shall sit the throne,_" Buck read aloud. "_And drown in flame the mountains of Man?_" Buck turned back to DeWitt. "What do you think it means?"

"Don't know, don't care," Booker icily replied. "It could be some religious nonsense for all that matters. Let's just find the girl and get out of this place."

Booker made it up the steps and opened a large wooden door, and was greeted with a large statue of an angle in the dead center of the circular room. The statue was identical to the Monument, and the room was littered with debris and fallen lights; whoever was working here, they left in a hurry. Large signs that warned of a restricted area were placed in each corner of the room, but they went ignored by the two wanted men, both looking for this girl Booker was supposed to rescue.

An object in a nearby locker caught Buck's eye, and he reached into it and pulled out what looked to be an audio recording device similar to the ones he saw showcased at the fair. This one was labeled **BRADLEY, TY**.

"Hey Book," Buck said, bringing over the recorder from the locker. "Get a load of this."

Buck hit the _play_ button, and another man's voice spoke through the recording. _"I guess even in a restricted area, these crackers need someone to clean the floors, hm? Those politicians and scientists don't bother 'bout what they say 'round me, because I'm some half-lettered colored boy. But I can tell they scared outta their wits by that think they got locked upstairs, yessir. They got a tiger by the tail, and they don't know whether to hang on… or_ run_."_

The recording ended, and Buck gently placed the recorder on the floor. He nervously rocked back and forth on his feet, while Booker gave him an uneasy glance.

"What do you think he meant by 'tiger by the tail'?"

"Fingers crossed it's the girl," said Booker. "And let's hope this guy doesn't know what he's talking about. Let's go."

The duo walked through the door ahead, and sparks flew from nearby machinery in the dimly-lit hallway. On the far side of the hallway was what looked like a growth chart of a woman from birth to age seventeen.

They continued on and entered a large laboratory-like room with a glass display in the center. The display was connected to a large electrical device with hundreds of conduits running throughout the room and all lead into the top of the device.

Buck pulled the lever to the closest display – a novel – and watched as electricity flowed from the conduits into the glass display. To Buck's disappointment, though, all that changed was the color of the book's cover. The duo maneuvered around the large machine, careful not to touch any of the exposed wires and conduits, and continued into the next room.

As the two continued down the dark pathway, Buck took the long silence as an opportunity to study Booker. There were a lot of physical similarities between the two; they shared the same height, age, build, even hair color. They both knew their ways around firearms, and were cool under pressure. Hell, Buck wouldn't have been surprised if they were related by blood they were so similar.

But as far as Buck knew, that's where the similarities ended. He knew nothing about Booker, and Booker didn't look like the kind of person to willingly spill his details.

"So, Booker," Buck casually began. "You from around here?"

"No," Booker coldly replied keeping his attention on the hallway in front of them. "New York City."

"Cool, cool…" Buck rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of where the conversation would go. "You got a job or something?"

An awkward, uneasy silence followed, before the two instinctively raised their weapons at a noise coming from the nearby laboratory room. The only living thing that showed itself, though, was a frightened rat that came scurrying out of the sterile-white room. The two moved forward, making sure to not step on the animal.

"So are you gonna give me some information," asked Buck, moving up so that he was right next to Booker. "Or am I gonna have to keep asking you about it?"

"Why do you want to know this about me," Booker asked, tone growing more and more impatient. "What good will it do?"

The two soon entered another large room – even larger than the one they were just in – with a massive piece of machinery dominating the center of the room. The machine was encased in a large glass dome,

"Because I like to know things about the people I work with. We're going to have to trust each other, and I like to build trust by getting to know my partner."

Booker sighed deeply, thinking over Buck's words, before turning back. "Private investigator. I used to work for the Pinkerton Agency, but that was a while ago."

"Pinkertons? The strike breakers?"

"Yeah."

"So that means you were–"

"Yeah," Booker interrupted, as the Booker stopped in front of Buck, looking him dead in the eyes. "I did some things to people I'd rather not talk about right now. Things that still haunt me, no matter what I do to try and make myself forget about them."

The two silently continued to walk down a dark hallway until they came across an elevator on the opposite side of the room.

"Well, at least now I know how you got so good with a gun," Buck joked, heading over to the elevator's entrance.

A dry chuckle was all that Buck could get out of DeWitt, but it was good enough for the ODST. Buck knew he wouldn't break down all of Booker's barriers, but he was chipping away at the big ones. And that was enough to put a tiny smile on Buck's face as the elevator doors closed.

* * *

The elevator finally stopped at the highest level, and the two exited into a metallic room, completely different from the classical design of the rest of the interior of the monument.

Booker saw a lever in front of them, and pulled it. The blast doors parted, and behind them was an empty room. Buck saw another hallway and motioned Booker to follow him.

Continuing down the hallway, Buck turned and saw a lit-up display labeled _Specimen location_ next to the door. On the display, the location _dressing room_ was flashing.

"Dressing room," said Buck, pointing at the display. "I bet that's where she is."

"Then let's get going," replied Booker.

The two continued down a dark hallway of scaffolding with nothing but several overhead lights to light the way. The walkway turned into a ramp, and the two walked through another door.

This room was very similar to the first room, except in here there was a seat and camera aimed at the observation window. This room had 'Dressing Room' labeled at the top.

Booker pulled the lever, and the blast doors parted to reveal a woman looking directly at them. She was brushing her raven-black hair, holding what looked to be a photograph in her other hand, and was smiling.

"That's her," said Booker, pulling his picture out of his pocket and glancing back and forth between it and the woman in front of them.

Her black hair greatly contrasted with her pale skin and big blue eyes. Behind her were pictures and paintings of the Eiffel Tower on the walls. Her blue dress and white blouse gave off an air of sophistication and beauty.

"Now what?"

"We keep moving," Booker responded, placing the photo back in his pocket.

The woman left the room, and the curtain closed down. Booker took the lead this time and headed down the hallway. There was another display in front of the door, with 'dining room' flashing. The door automatically opened and the two walked through.

"Do you mind if I ask you something," Booker asked, as they passed under an overhead lamp.

"Sure, go ahead," replied Buck.

"Back when we ran into Comstock, what you said about rabble-rousers and dissidents… what did you mean by that?"

Buck sighed. He knew he would have to explain himself eventually for what he's done, he just didn't know when. But now that was in the situation, he had to be careful not to bring up any old memories about his experiences during the Insurrection.

"About a decade before I was born, there was an uprising movement throughout the colonies against the ruling government. They questioned why they should be ruled by a group of politicians light-years away from them – a pretty valid argument, if you ask me. But talks fell through, and eventually a group of lunatics set off a nuclear bomb in a capital city, killing over two million innocent men and women."

Booker's normally stone-faced demeanor briefly cracked when Buck mentioned the deaths of over two million people. It was a death toll Booker could never imagine happening after just one event. He also didn't understand what 'nuclear' meant, but he figured if that many people died from its use, then it was pretty powerful.

Buck continued. "By the time I joined the ODSTs, the fighting had been going on for over thirty years and had millions of people dead on both sides." Buck felt a rush of emotions bubble up inside him. He grew angrier with each memory reemerging inside him. "What I did… the number of people I killed or put away because they didn't want to be governed by a ruling body on the other side of the galaxy… I hated it."

"But they would've killed you had you not killed them first."

"I understand that, and I hated them for killing not just my friends and squadmates, but the people who just wanted to keep their heads down and stay out of the fighting. It still doesn't change the fact that what I did still haunts me." Buck took a moment to compose himself, bringing his emotions back under control before continuing onward. "It's weird saying this, but thank God the Covenant showed up."

Buck saw a confused look on Booker's face, and put a hand on his shoulder. "That's another story for another time, friend."

Booker shook his head and opened a third door. Much like the rooms before, this one had metal blast doors covering the glass window. Booker threw the switch, the doors parted, and the woman was now standing in a room with many more paintings, sketches and photos of the Eiffel Tower that covered the walls. The most prominent of those paintings was still on an easel; it showed the Tower aglow with the moon overhead lighting up the French city.

The woman gently placed the picture on the nearby desk and turned to the painting. She took a deep breath and placed her hands in the middle of the portrait.

"The hell is she doing," Buck muttered, staring with great interest.

It seemed like air was rushing into the middle of the painting for only a second, before the woman pulled away again. She reached her hands _inside_ the portrait again like pulling back curtains, tore the very fabric of reality apart, revealing a very real Paris street just beyond the Eiffel Tower.

Booker and Buck, the tough-guy soldiers, stood mouths agape and speechless at what they just witnessed. A portal to a modern-looking Paris had just appeared out of thin air, complete with music of the time and Parisian citizens walking past.

"Incredible," Buck whispered, eyes as wide as saucer plates.

"What the hell," Booker, in complete disbelief, asked to no one.

Red and white lights, accompanied by a blaring siren, suddenly appeared in front of her. A fire truck came barreling down the road, siren blaring and lights flashing. The truck must've been only a few feet away before the woman closed the portal. Dust briefly clouded the view screen enough for Buck and Booker to not notice the cracks in the glass.

"Um," said Buck, breaking the silence as the woman quietly left the room. "OK… what the hell did we just see?"

"I don't know," Booker replied, regaining his senses. "But whatever that was, it's got nothing to do with the job at hand."

The two once again followed a walkway down to a scaffolding platform to another observation room. The blast doors opened and revealed a massive room with a large viewing window and walls covered in bookshelves.

On the chair next to the observation window was a Voxophone. Booker picked it up and pressed play. It was the voice of Rosalind, the red-headed woman Buck had encountered in the park and on the way to the Raffle.

"_What makes this girl different? I suspect it has less to do with what she is, and more to do with what she is _not_. A small part of her remains where from where she came. It would seem the universe does not like its peas mixed with its porridge._"

Buck didn't know what to make of this audio recording. As the woman walked over to the window and looked longingly out the window, Buck wondered what Rosalind meant by 'peas mixing with porridge'.

* * *

Buck, followed by Booker, entered through the door – which quickly closed behind them – and they crept through the eerily silent hallways. The only sounds the duo could hear were the whistling winds outside, the humming of the electricity, and their own footsteps on the wood floor.

The two followed a short corridor until they came across a door in a dark room with a bronze floor. The floor was held up by four chains secured from the ceiling.

Buck, unsure of the sturdiness of the circular floor, tested its weight by placing all his weight down on one foot and stepping on it, slowly bringing his entire body onto the object. Aside from some slight creaking, the object appeared to be able to hold his weight.

Satisfied, Buck waved Booker over and, after Booker tested his own weight on the bronze object, the two continued walking.

Suddenly, Buck heard metal groan, and looked at the chain next to him snap. With another broken chain, the floor gave way and the two fell through the gaping hole.

Buck hit the ground hard, and saw stars as he saw the Pinkerton Agent hanging from a railing by one hand. Buck landed flat on his front-side, making something as simple as taking breaths a chore.

"Uh… hello," said an embarrassed-sounding Booker, hanging precariously from the railing.

A sudden shriek from an unseen woman was the next noise the Marine heard, followed by Booker losing his grip and falling on top of Buck. Booker slammed into Buck's back, and whatever breath he was taking sharply escaped his lungs. The front of Buck's head slammed back into the hard-wood floor, and Buck grew angry.

"Get. Off. Of. Me!" exclaimed Buck, trying to wiggle his way out from underneath Booker.

Before Booker could get off of Buck, the woman leaned over the railing and threw a heavy book at the two of them, hitting Buck directly in his side. The woman, wearing elegant-looking clothing, ran down a set of stairs, throwing another book that flew past DeWitt.

"Would you just stop it," Booker angrily shouted to the woman, blocking another book with his arm. "We're not here to hurt you."

The woman, reaching the bottom of the steps, grabbed book off an impressive pile. She charged at the duo, and brought the book into an attacking position.

"Who are you," asked the woman, the book held like a weapon. She angrily glared at both men, ready to strike.

Buck elbowed Booker hard in the ribs, prompting DeWitt to stand. Buck dusted himself off as he sat up, rubbing his still-sore midsection. The ODST turned his attentions to the angry woman glaring at him, giving her an ocular pat-down.

She was about five-foot six, possibly due to the shoes she was wearing. Her hair was a dark brown, and it was tied in a pony-tail, while her eyes were like big pools of water.

"The name's DeWitt," Booker answered, finally picking himself off of Buck. "This is my associate, Buck." Buck half-hazardly waved, straightening his jacket and vest.

"We're here to help." Booker put his arm on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off.

"Get away, both of you" she demanded, swinging the heavy-looking book. Booker expertly blocked the strike, and several more before Elizabeth tired herself out.

Elizabeth, clearly out of breath, let the book fall from her hands. She stared at Booker, then at Buck, and brought her hand up to the side of Booker's head.

"Are you real," she asked, amazed at the sight of two people in her room.

"Real enough," Booker plainly replied.

_Has she been locked up this whole time_, Buck asked himself.

A sharp whistling noise cut through the silence, causing Buck to aim his weapon at the cause of the sudden sound; a golden statue in Comstock's image. Steam was rising from behind it in unison with the whistling, and its eyes were flashing.

The more Buck listened to the whistles, the more it began to form a patriotic tune of some sort. Whatever the tune meant to Elizabeth, it clearly wasn't good.

"You've got to go," said Elizabeth, pushing the two back. A look of horror replaced her curiosity.

"Why," Booker asked, with a slight chuckle as he was pushed back.

Elizabeth scanned back and forth – like she was looking for something – before staring directly into Booker's serious eyes. "You don't want to be here when he gets here!"

"Who's_ he_," asked Buck.

A high-pitched whine was the next noise to surprise everyone. Buck whipped around, machine gun at the ready, looking for where the sound came from.

"Just a minute," Elizabeth shouted, looking up from where Booker and Buck fell from. "I'm getting dressed."

"We've come to get you out of here!"

Elizabeth looked around the room in a panic, searching for somewhere she could possibly hide the two. "There's no way out," she said, still looking around her room. "Trust me, I've looked."

The grinding and whirring of gears, along with more high-pitched whines, not only caused Elizabeth to look more worried, but for Buck to grow more panicked himself. How could he defend himself from something he couldn't see?

"Stop it! You're too impatient, that's enough!"

Booker dug into his pocket and pulled out a key. "How about this?"

"What about it?"

"It's your ticket out of here," said Buck, lowering his machine gun for a moment.

"What are you two…" Elizabeth's voice trailed off as she saw the key in Booker's hand. She snatched the key, twirling it between her fingers as she closely inspected it.

Elizabeth quickly ran over to a large metal door on the opposite side of the room, and gently inserted the key into the slot and twisted it.

As Booker and Buck followed this strange woman to the door, they continued to hear high-pitched noises coming from somewhere above them. They sounded more and more like curious chirps than any kind of alarm.

The door – looking like it was designed more for a bank vault than anything else – hissed as the key unlocked its locks and popped open. Elizabeth struggled to open the door wide enough for her slender frame to fit through, but as she wedged herself through the door, red lights began to flash.

"It's the way out," Elizabeth shouted from down a hallway. The alarms blared, but the only sound the two heard was the incredibly sharp screeching of whatever was making the noises above. The monument forcefully shook, as Booker and Buck took that as their cue to leave.

Sprinting down the stairs, the monument shook again, causing the lights to flicker and pieces of the ceiling to fall. Another thunderous vibration nearly brought a support beam down on Booker, but Buck pushed him out of the way before the large metal beam crushed him.

"What the hell is doing this," asked Buck, keeping his balance after another hit shook the monument.

"It's his job to keep me here," Elizabeth exclaimed, rounding the corner down another hallway.

"We'll see about that," said a confident Booker.

The trio continued to run through the innards of the monument, racing against time as whatever was outside continued to slam and shake the statue.

"Who are you two," asked Elizabeth, narrowly avoiding a falling plank of wood. "And why did you come here?" Another screeching noise followed a violent vibration, causing a few support beams to fall and nearly crush the escapees.

"That doesn't matter right now," shouted Booker.

As the three rounded yet another corner, a more powerful blast knocked Booker and Buck back. Large claw marks cut through the steel walls like a hot knife through butter. The sound of shearing metal was deafening, and Buck thought he caught a quick sight of a monstrous being on the outside.

Booker and Buck got back to their feet and caught back up to Elizabeth before another falling beam crashed through the walkway and split it in two.

"Call the elevator," Booker shouted, shutting the bulkhead behind them as more vibrations sent dust splinters of wood falling on them.

"The what," asked Elizabeth, voice quivering with fear.

Booker grunted. "For the love of… just push the button."

Elizabeth pressed the flashing button, and the _ding_ of an elevator sounded.

Despite his years of military training and physical conditioning, the constant sprinting and evading of falling debris, plus whatever was causing the destruction outside, had worn Buck out. He was getting up there in age, and his exhaustion was showing it.

Booker, meanwhile, wasn't experiencing any exhaustion. Or maybe he was better at hiding it than Buck was. Either way, DeWitt was as stoic as ever, even in the face of certain danger. It was a quality of the man that Buck admired, and one that he had to mirror if he wanted to ensure this woman's feeling of safety in them.

As the rocking continued, Elizabeth turned and finally noticed the windows and seats in the room. She intensely studied the rooms behind the windows, and finally put two and two together.

"They… they were watching me," she disbelievingly asked. She couldn't peel herself away from the observation windows. "All this time?"

She turned back to Booker and Buck. "W-was I some sort of… _experiment_ to them?" Her voice rose to match her growing anger. "Why did they put me in here? What am I? What _am_ I?"

Buck put his hands on her shoulders, calming her down. "You're the girl who's getting out of this tower." His voice was filled with a calming smoothness that appeared to ease her worries, if only for a moment.

A massive metal claw exploded through the elevator door and tore away the frame of the elevator, revealing the head of a massive bird. The bird surprising appearance jolted everyone a few inches off the ground.

The bird was artificial, obvious not just by its size, but by the leather skin and glowing eyes that seemed to burn at Buck and stare directly into his soul. It was making the same screeching noise Buck heard from inside Elizabeth's room, and its titanic claws were grasping at them, trying to take them and do who knows what to them.

Battle instincts kicked in, and Buck shoved Elizabeth behind him as he unloaded the entire clip of his machine gun into the beast. Bullets tore through leather and pinged off the metallic claws, but the creature kept coming. Booker eventually joined in, firing his carbine into the creature, but their combined fire still had no effect. With barrels smoldering and spent shell casings littering the floor, the creature's metallic talons continued to claw at the trio.

Just as it appeared the creature's claws would reach them, the elevator crashed on top of the beast, sending it tumbling below. When the dust settled, all that was left was an empty elevator shaft and a single plank extending to the way across.

"Let's go," Booker shouted, stepping on to the plank and carefully making his way across the deep chasm to the other side.

Buck and Elizabeth followed shortly, and they were quickly up the flight of stairs before the leather bird made a return.

The trio reached the bulkhead at the top floor, as the monument continued to shake back and forth. Elizabeth tried to open the door, but the handle wouldn't budge. Booker took to the handle, while Buck pushed the door open.

Once again, Buck was holding the bulkhead door open as double-digit mile-per-hour winds tore at his skin from atop the tower.

"Where do we go," asked Elizabeth, shouting over the howling winds.

"Up," shouted Booker, pointing to the top of the tower. "We've got to keep climbing!"

Slowly, against the sharp winds atop the tower, the three climbed to the top. As they ascended to the top, a massive silhouette of the bird creature appeared behind the clouds, its piercing cry cutting through the roar of the winds.

At the top of the monument, near the door where Booker and Buck entered before, the trio reached a dead end. As Booker and Elizabeth looked for another exit, Buck looked over the railing below. He saw there were a series of Sky-Lines below.

Judging by the weight of the two, plus factoring in however much Elizabeth weighed, Buck calculated that they could connect to the Sky-Lines and ride them to safety… as long as their arms didn't rip themselves from their sockets upon contact.

"We're going to have to jump," Buck shouted to Elizabeth and Booker, pointing below the railing. "There are some Sky-Lines below us. We should be able to ride them out to a landing point."

Elizabeth's eyes widened as she quickly stepped away from the edge. "Are you crazy? A jump that far is suicide!"

Buck put his Sky-Hook on his arm, and turned back to Elizabeth with a smile. "Feet first into hell, ma'am!"

Before Elizabeth could reply, the monstrous bird reappeared and brushed against the monument, causing the structure to wobble. The three lost their balance, and were sent falling over the edge.

Buck spread his arms and legs apart to slow his descent. The ODST, very familiar with the techniques of free-fall, felt himself decelerate slightly. All he could hear as he fell farther and farther away from the monument was his own steady breathing and the freezing wind passing over him.

Buck looked to his right, and saw a few feet away Booker grab hold of Elizabeth and extended his arm out towards the Sky-Line, successfully connecting him to the metal rail-system. Buck soon found himself riding the same railway, only a few feet behind the two.

Buck looked back, and saw the monument begin to crumble. Giant claw marks covered the exterior, and chunks of the bronze statue began to detach and fall below. The marine saw a large piece of what was the arm crash into a nearby bridge, sending the unknown travelers on it to their certain deaths.

The railway carried them next to the bridge and to what looked like an empty passage, until another piece of the statue collided with the Sky-Line, shattering it into thousands of pieces and sending Booker and Elizabeth falling. The two managed to hold on for a few moments, before separating as they rapidly descended into the ocean below.

Buck made the difficult choice, and dove after Elizabeth. He positioned himself to pick up as much speed as possible to catch up to the woman and catch her before she hit the water.

_Come on… come on…_

Buck was inching closer, arm stretched as far as it could to grab hold of Elizabeth as the ocean below them grew closer and closer.

_Almost… almost… _

Elizabeth saw that Buck was now just a foot away, and stretched her hand out for him to catch. Fingers touched, and soon after Buck grabbed onto Elizabeth's forearm and brought her close to his body. Seeing the water rapidly approaching them, Buck turned so that he would hit the water first, shielding Elizabeth from the impact.

The world exploded around him as he impacted the salty water with great enough force to send him and Elizabeth deep into the ocean. A sharp pain entered his back, and he saw stars as Elizabeth tried to break free of his grip. Despite the blinding pain, the ODST managed to swim his way to the surface before either of them ran out of air.

The two made it out of the water just in time, and took deep inhales when they met the air. But before they could relax, the massive bird dove head-first into the water.

"Where's Booker," Buck asked, looking around the endless ocean. "Did you see where Booker landed?"

Elizabeth, tightly clutching around Buck's neck, pointed to where the bird dove into the water.

"No, no," exclaimed Elizabeth, grip around Buck growing ever tighter. "Don't leave!"

"Can you swim?"

She shook her head, and Buck groaned. He looked around for something Elizabeth could hold onto; a rock, a buoy, anything that would float. All that was available, though, were a couple of boards of wood. They would have to do for the moment.

Buck swam over to one of the larger planks and practically forced Elizabeth to grab onto it.

"Stay here," Buck said in a calming tone. "I'll be right back. I promise."

Buck took a deep breath and dove underwater to look for his partner. He saw a school of fish swimming in the distance, before seeing a leather blur shoot out of the water like a rocket from a tube. It had to have been where Booker was.

Buck saw through the murky water Booker's lifeless body floating in the water. He wasn't moving, but it didn't look like the bird creature caused any physical harm to him.

Buck swam over to DeWitt's motionless body, gathered him, and swam up to the surface. The bird was nowhere in sight as Buck breached the surface, lungs gasping for oxygen as he found the plank Elizabeth was still grasping onto with dear life and swam Booker over to it.

Buck placed the unconscious DeWitt on the board and looked for somewhere to swim to… there, out in the distance was a beach. It would be a hell of a swim, but they would have to make it.

Buck turned to a still frightened Elizabeth and pointed to the far away beach. "We have to go there and get him on shore. I know this is asking a lot, but I need you to help me."

"What can I do," she asked, keeping her head above the water.

"Just kick. I'll do the rest."

Buck and Elizabeth began kicking as hard as they can, slowly but steadily pushing the board of wood closer and closer towards the distant shoreline.

* * *

**Please don't forget to give a review, favorite or follow!**

**Oh yeah, almost forgot. In the coming weeks, be sure to check in on the Halo/Star Wars crossover section for a new story titled _Noble's Eye _(title subject to change based on suggestions).**


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